flowers

flowers,

insects,

birds,

and bees,

a community,

full of life,

and purpose.

Douglas Polk

tree of colors

a tree of colors,

or just colors in a tree,

makes no difference to me.

Douglas Polk

human

the human a hero,

spotlight shining,

we the race to destroy or save the world,

humility never was our saving grace.

Douglas Polk

blurry

blurry,

the same as an early morning,

after a night in which the whiskey drank,

the effect unnerving,

my eyes tired,

as is my brain.

Douglas Polk

vines

swinging from vine to vine,

day after day,

an attempt to survive,

the ordinary,

and the day to day.

Douglas Polk

swirl

a swirl of emotion,

rarely if ever,

understood,

or seen,

faces again,

hidden on the page,

full of emotion,

full of rage,

the paint does not lie.\

Douglas Polk

in darkness

in darkness with no way to see,

our hero strolls through life,

missing the moments and the trees,

lost in the forest,

eyes unopened.

Douglas Polk

a structure

a structure created,

solid and firm,

with a unity of purpose,

beautiful to see.

Douglas Polk

a pattern discovered

the pattern repeated,

again and again,

the same colors painted,

page after page,

a sickness for which there seems to be no cure.

Douglas Polk

alone

a man alone,

seen,

but best not heard,

offending no one,

threatening no one,

harassing no one,

a man alone.

Douglas Polk

churchill seen

\

 Churchill seen,

a ghost of green,

unpainted,

but calling for the great beyond,

appearing upon the page,

uninvited.

Douglas Polk

flowers purple

puffs of purple upon the page,

among vines and colors,

not so bold,

puffs of purple upon the page.

Douglas Polk

mob rule

society run a muck,

people lynched on the internet,

day after day,

no trials,

or justice,

only mob rule,

in the quiet of their homes.

Douglas Polk

eyes and airplanes

the painting complete,

and eyes and airplanes look back at me,

seem to be all I see,

eyes and airplanes.

Douglas Polk

hot

fiery red,

the colors seem to be fleeing the page,

looking for a cooler place to be,

instead of the inferno,

painted in brushstrokes of red.

Douglas Polk

the stranger

man or woman,

the answer unknown,

only a stranger,

forever more to be.

Douglas Polk

blue and white

blue and white,

beautiful,

but without meaning,

shallow,

like the vision it is,

with no depth,

or purpose.

Douglas Polk

Irish green

the hills once an Irish green,

now green only exists in the trees,

probably not the green of Ireland,

but a faded copy.

Douglas Polk

berries

berries in the imagination exist in a place serene,

Eden,

a garden,

where the lion at peace with the lamb,

their nectar a touch of heaven,

never to be tasted.

Douglas Polk

loops

the colors play in my mind,

on a continuous loop,

over and over,

until I am sick of them,

and the colors vomited on the page,

the process begins anew.

Douglas Polk

Pride

 arrogance personified,

he looks to the future,

full of plans,

full of himself,

never understanding,

no one cares,

or listens,

the trap complete.

Douglas Polk

unknown

the concept behind the painting unknown,

painted in anger,

the mind distracted,

and the hands unguided,

a painting unknown.

Douglas Polk

memories

her eyes a coffee brown,

with lips full and satisfying,

images of her dance in my mind,

at the strangest places,

the strangest times,

her eyes a coffee brown.

Douglas Polk

Roses

roses red,

given in love,

though nothing else given,

only the flowers,

love shared to scary to contemplate.

Douglas Polk

faded

colors faded,

and dated,

the seventies live,

though on life support.

Douglas Polk

forgiveness asked

in prayer,

forgiveness asked,

though ears closed,

not wanting to hear the answer.

Douglas Polk

waves

wave upon wave,

wash over me,

colors,

a melting pot,

trapped by colors,

wondering what my future holds.

Douglas Polk

Romance

time when thoughts turn to romance,

French the movie,

and the story,

both in truth and feel,

though beauty,

not a requirement.

Douglas Polk

childhood

childhood revisited, 

horses and bunnies,

drawn the Grandma showed me,

her glasses and books,

memorialized.

Douglas Polk

The victor

arm raised in victory,

though identity unknown,

the victory incomplete,

or perfect,

only time to tell.

Douglas Polk

pathways

pathways through the turmoil,

both inside and out,

sing a song of praise,

narrow the path to salvation.

Douglas Polk